I’m holding a paper cup of coffee, the warmth seeping through the cardboard into my palms, thinking about nothing in particular except the first sip I haven’t taken yet.

And then he rounds the corner.

A man in a dark jacket, head bent, eyes locked on the screen of his phone. He’s walking fast, with a focused, hurried energy that cuts through the flow of pedestrians like a blade.

A solid shoulder-check. A jolt. My grip falters.

The cup tilts, the lid pops off, and a wave of scalding dark roast arcs through the air—not onto the pavement, but onto the front of his jacket, his jeans, the phone still clutched in his hand.